


i don't know if theres actually a subset of witchcraft specific to libraries but i'm willing to believe

by putorius



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:10:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putorius/pseuds/putorius
Summary: Grantaire was pretty sure that hot librarian was a fucking witch. And of course he was a super cool witch, the kind who could lift shit with his mind - all Grantaire would do was bless stuff, make potions, and talk to spirits. Comparatively lame.---for this prompt:"mmmmm write an au wherrre uhhh hhhhhh grantaire is uhhhh kitchen witch and combeferre is a uhhh library witch and they fight at first but end up making out"





	i don't know if theres actually a subset of witchcraft specific to libraries but i'm willing to believe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swamp_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swamp_Cat/gifts).



> hi i know i said i wasnt going to post anything tonight because i didnt have the energy to finish this, but then i felt guilty for not posting when i said i would, so here! have part one of this weird library witch au. i didnt even really try to edit this. keep that in mind!  
> also, beware: i mention both 50 shades and captive prince (which, if you havent heard of/read them, they're both pretty gross! very rape normalizing, very shitty) for like, one line. it's when enjolras is with patria and i mention them only to make fun of them.

Grantaire practically lives at the library - this specific library. He learned to read in the children’s section back when it still had those orange metallic shelves. He got his first library card when he was five years old. He volunteered every other summer with the Children’s Summer Reading Program until he was too old to qualify. He was neighbors with one of the original librarians. He actually dislocated his right elbow in the hallway once - whether or not he had Ehlers-Danlos was yet to be determined, but his mother certainly had it, and he had inherited her elastic limbs and loose joints.

Listen - Grantaire would probably die for and/or in this library if it really came down to it, which is why he was so offended when it got a bunch of new librarians. He’d known all of their names before. They’d all known his. But they were all ancient and had mostly retired, and he walked in after a long holiday with his family to find that most of the librarians he’d grown up with were gone and that there were a ton of new, young librarians in their place. Grantaire tried not to make eye contact with any of them. Combeferre was making that sort of difficult with his beautiful face and his beautiful laugh and whatnot.

\---

Grantaire never reserved movies at the library. If you reserved books or CD’s, they’d put them in alphabetical order by last name along this big wall and you could go in and pick them up at your leisure. If you reserved a DVD, you had to go up to the front desk. You had to talk to a librarian. Grantaire thought sometimes that the library instituted this change specifically to piss him and his social anxiety off.

That said, he _really_ wanted to see _Deadpool_ , and he hadn’t been able to get to the theatre when it came out. He was just hoping the librarian at the desk was Derek, who he had accidentally become good friends with. Derek wouldn’t care if Grantaire rolled up to the front desk in sweatpants and flip flops. Derek wouldn’t be alarmed if the only word Grantaire could get out was “Dude.” Derek would just pat Grantaire’s shoulder and understand that “Dude” meant “Hey man, I have a movie to pick up, but if you make me say that many words in this public place right now, I might have a panic attack.” Derek was chill.

It wasn’t Derek. It was Combeferre, which was unfortunate, because Combeferre was always looking inordinately beautiful with his enamel collar pins and his tattoos and his general face area, and that was the sort of thing that made Grantaire and his sweatpants feel inadequate.

But he was already in the library. Combeferre had already spotted him and waved. It would be weird, at this point, for Grantaire to turn around and leave. He was already in the library.

Grantaire thought about how much he wanted to see _Deadpool_. He thought about how much trouble it would be to just illegally download it instead. He thought about the fact that he was totally stupid, and he’d decided to wear the sweatpants without pockets, which meant he didn’t have his notepad with him, and he needed his notepad if he was going to be nonverbal and Derek wasn’t at the desk.

He’d been standing in one place for so long that he could feel Combeferre’s gaze shift from polite and friendly to mildly concerned. Now it would be _extra weird_ if Grantaire turned around and left. Weird enough that Combeferre might follow him out, just to make sure he was okay. That was the kind of sweet thing Combeferre was likely to do.

Grantaire shook himself out of his frozen stupor and walked up to the front desk. Combeferre was waiting amicably.

“Hello,” said Combeferre. “Is there something I can help you with today?”

Grantaire mimed writing something down. Combeferre, bless him, got out a pad of paper and a pencil right away. That was the kind of reaction a person only had if they were used to nonverbal people. Grantaire was irritated that Combeferre kept winning points in his favor.

_reserved deadpool movie, last name Grantaire_ , he wrote. He slid the note towards Combeferre.

“Got it,” said Combeferre. He disappeared under the desk, returning with the DVD.

Grantaire wrote down his card number so Combeferre could check out the movie for him. For the few moments of silence it took Combeferre to type in his number, scan, and unlock the movie, Grantaire was hyperaware of his personal flaws, beginning with his unkempt hair and ending with his - again, honestly, he should have just pulled on some Converse - fucking flip flops. He pulled at his hair self-consciously - he normally liked to at least get it wet before he went out, but he was tired and he figured that the local white population really wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between kempt and unkempt 4c hair. It was an unfortunate circumstance, but one he liked to take advantage of.

Grantaire tugged at his hair again. Combeferre wasn’t white. Combeferre had natural hair too, and would therefore be able to tell that Grantaire hadn’t even tried that morning. Grantaire’s entire plan had gone to shit.

Grantaire almost tripped on his way out of the library. It was possible Combeferre had said more words to him after handing Grantaire the movie, but Grantaire hadn’t heard any of them. Christ. He just wanted to watch a movie with some hand-to-hand combat. Was that too much to ask?

\---

Enjolras was sitting cross-legged on his bed. This is how he liked to type essays. Combeferre was pacing in the space in front of Enjolras’s bed. This is how Combeferre liked to rant.

“You should have seen his eyes,” said Combeferre. “Blue. Like, clear blue. Like, this guy has the Crystal Heart from _Sharkboy and Lavagirl_ in his eyes sockets.”

“Does he now?” said Enjolras. He didn’t look up from his typing. “That sounds chilly.”

“He was also sort of - I mean, he was very -”

“Hm?”

Combeferre blushed. “He was just, I mean, very fit. Overall.”

Enjolras squinted. “Fit like attractive, or fit like he does sports?”

“Yes,” said Combeferre. “Don’t get me wrong - he sort of looked like a wreck. Like you during finals -”

“Thanks,” said Enjolras dryly.

“You’re welcome,” said Combeferre. “He was wearing flip flops with sweatpants. I suspect his shirt was three days old.”

“And he was still attractive?” asked Enjolras.

“ _Very attractive,_ ” said Combeferre. “Very, like, Shakespearean. He would not look amiss on horseback.”

“Except for the flip flops,” said Enjolras.

“Yes, that,” said Combeferre. “Throw him in a waistcoat and call him Fitzwilliam Darcy, you know.”

“My, my,” said Enjolras. “That’s your exact type.”

“ _God_ , I know,” said Combeferre helplessly.

“Well,” said Enjolras, tying his hair up. “He checked out a movie, yes? Which means he has to come back within the week to avoid late fees.”

“What if he returns it through the drop-box?” asked Combeferre.

It was a valid point. There was a smallish shed next to the library with drop-boxes where patrons could drive through and return their materials.

“Make it conveniently out of order,” said Enjolras.

Combeferre groaned. Enjolras stuck out his hand until Combeferre obliged and came close enough for Enjolras to pat his head.

“There, there,” said Enjolras. “Your weird gross library crush will return soon.”

“He’s not -” said Combeferre. He paused. “No, he is. He’s a gross library crush.”

“Mhm,” hummed Enjolras. “I know.”

\---

Meanwhile, Grantaire was trying to brew a potion.

“That’s not a potion,” said Jehan. “That’s just tea.”

To the layman, it was peppermint tea. To Jehan, it was also just peppermint tea.

“Everything’s a potion when I brew it,” said Grantaire.

“I don’t know that the definition of a potion is ‘liquid based thing with magical properties’, but I’d be willing to be proved wrong,” said Jehan.

“That’s the exact definition,” said Grantaire. “A liquid with magical, healing, or poisonous properties.”

Jehan swung their legs back and forth over the edge of Grantaire’s dining room table. The table didn’t even creak.

“We should tell Joly,” said Jehan. “He’d think thats funny. Vaccinations are potions now?”

“Don’t tell anti-vaxxers, lest they make that the basis of their next campaign,” said Grantaire. “Which teacup do you want?”

“The one that changes colors,” said Jehan. “What movie are we watching today?”

“I got _Deadpool_ ,” said Grantaire.

“How’s Derek?” asked Jehan. “He recommended me a nice book about pterodactyls last time I saw him.”

“It was Combeferre,” said Grantaire. He handed Jehan their tea.

“And you still got the movie? I’m very proud of you,” said Jehan.

“Yeah, well, I was nonverbal the entire time,” said Grantaire.

“That does not diminish how proud I am,” said Jehan. Grantaire flushed. “Now, tell me: why are we drinking peppermint tea?”

“Peppermint is good for dreams. And cleansing. I know you’re having some trouble with your dreams,” said Grantaire. He leaned back against the counter, bracing the heels of his hands against the edge.

Jehan hummed pleasantly around the tea. “You’re a peach,” they said.

“Are you ready to watch the movie?” asked Grantaire.

“You know, Combeferre is very gorgeous,” said Jehan. “In a sculptural way. He’s a lovely mix between early Hellenistic sculpture and Philippe Faraut’s current work.”

“Jehan, please, I just want to watch Ryan Reynolds stab a bunch of guys on screen,” said Grantaire. “They get kebabed - you saw the trailer. Kebabed!”

“He’s gay,” said Jehan. “By the way.”

“I - Ryan Reynolds? Isn’t he married to a woman?” said Grantaire.

“No. Well, yes, he is, but I was talking about Combeferre,” said Jehan.

Grantaire dragged a hand over his face in exasperation. “Please tell me you did not ask Combeferre about his sexuality for the sole purpose of ruining my life.”

“I asked a mutual friend of ours, actually. And I choose to believe this won’t ruin your life. I believe this will get you laid,” said Jehan.

“There had better be at least one chimichanga in this movie,” said Grantaire, heading for the living room.

Jehan jumped down off the table, careful not to spill their tea. “Ryan Reynolds could still be gay."

"I don't know," said Grantaire.

"Lots of gay men marry women before they come out," said Jehan.

"I mean, he seems like he really loves his wife. Like, so much," said Grantaire.

Jehan took a gulp of tea. "Ryan Reynolds is so  _fine_ , Grantaire."

" _God_ , I know," said Grantaire. "It's absurd. Let's go watch him pose in spandex."

\---

Combeferre respects the system by which the library is organized. He does. He wouldn’t overhaul it just because personally finds it irritating that the books on assassins and hitmen are spread up because some of them are with gangsters and organized crime (which is right next to forensic science and true crime) and others are with the military and espionage books (which are, like, three whole bookshelves away from the crime books). Combeferre wishes every single day that he could put it in this order: military and espionage, with those assassins and hitmen leading into the organized crime and gangsters, leading into the true crime, and then into forensic science. Forensic science should at least be on that side - the next set of shelves has a bunch of stuff about anatomy and biology. Similarly, the programming books and the books on artificial intelligence are nowhere near each other. He knows there are actual reasons for this - he did have to go to school to become a librarian - but he would do it a little differently if this was his personal library.

Combeferre was considering this while reshelving some of the reference books. He was making a valiant attempt to heave a dangerously large Russian-English dictionary over his head to the appropriate shelf. It would be easier just to -

The book slipped from his grasp. Grantaire - that had been his name, right? He’d only seen the account for a moment - had just walked in. He was looking more put together than the last time, and the shirt he was wearing was being very, _very_ kind to his biceps, and -

Combeferre looked down at the book as it soared towards the carpet. He caught the book just before it hit the ground. He bent down to pick it up, hoping nobody had noticed him stop a book middair with his mind. It was probably fine. Only one person had ever noticed before, and Enjolras had only believed what he was seeing because he’d been raised a hereditary witch. It was probably fine.

\---

Grantaire was pretty sure that hot librarian was a fucking _witch_ . And of _course_ he was a super cool witch, the kind who could lift shit with his mind - all Grantaire would do was bless stuff, make potions, and talk to spirits. Comparatively lame.

(Jehan, whose magic was almost entirely confined to dreaming and astral projection, tried to explain to Grantaire time and time again how interesting and impressive his magic was. Grantaire always pointed out that Jehan’s magic could take him to the astral plane, which was probably objectively cooler than drawing sigils like Grantaire did, so he didn’t really want to hear it.)

Ugh. Jehan was going to hear about this later. Jehan was going to cackle with delight. Grantaire was going to be furious.

\---

Jehan was cackling with delight. Grantaire was furious.

“I mean, that’s your usual defense, isn’t it? You don’t want to get involved with non-magical people because you don’t want to have to explain why you can’t cook for them, which, by the way, is silly. You can just cook for them anyway,” said Jehan.

“I don’t know how to cook without magic,” said Grantaire. “I think it’s an invasion to give someone magic food without their consent. Half the shit in my fridge has a spell attached. Everything in here is blessed or cleansed - how am I supposed to explain that?”

“The good news is that you won’t have to with Combeferre,” said Jehan. “Because he’s a witch. A witchy witch who does witchcrafty magic.”

“You could have a little less fun with this,” said Grantaire.

“I think I’m having the appropriate amount of fun,” said Jehan.

“I think you’re being a huge meanie,” said Grantaire.

“I’m just saying,” said Jehan. “This isn’t actually a problem. This can work to your advantage.”

“Yeah, I’ll just walk up to him and tell him that I saw him catch a book with his mind, which like, really gets me going or whatever, so he should come out for dinner with me. Yes. That’ll work great,” said Grantaire.

“Sounds good to me,” said Jehan. Grantaire threw a dishtowel at them.

\---

Grantaire was not going to have a panic attack in this library. He was _not_.

He was in the witchcraft section. It was very small. Most of the actually useful stuff was scattered around different sections the same was the assassins were, but there was a small row of books dedicated to Wicca and secular witchcraft in-between myths and legends and modern non-Western religions. Grantaire stared at them.

He had to pick one that was good. He had to pick one that was specifically about witchcraft, too. It wouldn’t do any good to pick up a good book about herbs - Combeferre would think he was just into cooking or gardening or something. It had to be about witchcraft specifically. And it had to be good. If it was one of those shitty intro-to-witchcraft books thirteen year olds buy when they don’t know any better, Combeferre would think Grantaire was just fucking around. It had to be _good_.

It was a small library. There weren’t that many books on the shelf.

His eyes scanned the row again. It all seemed so kitschy, like nothing a real witch would read. He thought about checking out a book on Hellenic Polytheism instead - it was related and Grantaire had been meaning to read up on it anyway - when his eyes caught it. One of the few well-known books in the secular witchcraft community for being, well, really fucking awesome. The whole thing was one long, informative inside joke. If Combeferre really was a witch, he’d recognize it.

\---

“Grantaire checked out a book on witchcraft today and I know he did it on purpose,” said Combeferre.

“Good afternoon, Combeferre,” said Enjolras. “Please - come into my apartment, yell about the gross library boy. I am not doing anything important.”

“Are you busy?” asked Combeferre. He hated to impose.

“I’m playing with Patria. I’m very busy,” said Enjolras.

Sure enough, Enjolras was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with a bright red laser pointer in his hands. His cat - a grey British shorthair named Patria - was going absolutely batshit over it on the other side of the room.

Combeferre dropped his bag at the side of the couch at sat cross-legged next to Enjolras. “He knows,” said Combeferre.

“Provide me with evidence,” said Enjolras, flicking the laser pointer towards the cat post. Patria dove for it.

“He checked out a book on witchcraft today,” said Combeferre.

“Not to be that guy,” said Enjolras. “But I feel like you, as a librarian, should know this - sometimes people read books, Combeferre.”

“No, listen,” said Combeferre. “He always goes to the self-checkout unless he has to pick up a movie. He came in empty handed, went and found a book on witchcraft, and then checked it out _with me at the front desk_.”

“Maybe he was trying to flirt with you,” said Enjolras.

“With witchcraft?” said Combeferre skeptically. “I think if a patron was trying to flirt with a librarian, they’d want to check out more seductive books.”

“ _50 Shades_ ?” said Enjolras. “ _Captive Prince_?”

“Do not joke,” said Combeferre severely.

Enjolras rolled onto his side to face Combeferre better. In doing so, he shot the laser pointer into the kitchen. Patria was determined to eat it for dinner.

“Look - you’re gonna have to flirt with him. You know that, right?” said Enjolras.

“This is - this is _not_ the problem at hand,” said Combeferre.

“I’m just saying. If he’s, you know, not an asshole, he’s not gonna seriously flirt with you while you’re at work,” said Enjolras. “Maybe just enough for you to know he’s into you, but nothing overbearing. You have to take charge, my comrade.”

“I can’t take you seriously when your cat is named Patria and you call me comrade,” said Combeferre.

“I can’t take you seriously when you come into my apartment yelling about this weird patron you’ve only spoken to twice, but who has, like, the prettiest eyes,” said Enjolras.

“He does,” said Combeferre. “He does have the prettiest eyes.”

“Ugh,” said Enjolras.

\---

“He has, like, the prettiest eyes, Jehan,” said Grantaire.

“I’m sure he does,” said Jehan.

“Brown. Brown like _smoky topaz_ brown. Brown like bronze. Like copper. Like -”

“Dude, I get it, you’re an artist,” said Jehan.

“Do I interrupt you when you stop me mid-sentence to perform your impromptu poetry?” said Grantaire. “Do I make fun of you, you capital ‘R’ Romantic?”

“Yes to both,” said Jehan. “But you may continue.”

Grantaire clapped his hands together. “The waves in his irises are really prominent? Like sand dunes. But his eyes are - they’re almost _amber_ . I don’t know how to explain it. They aren’t, like, light brown. Not that kind of amber. They’re dark brown, normally - chestnut, man. But then - then the light hits, and suddenly its all _amber waves of grain_ up in his eye sockets.”

Jehan pursed their lips. “You might consider talking to him,” said Jehan.

“I checked out a book today,” said Grantaire. “From him. I went up to the desk.”

“Hell yeah,” said Jehan. “What did you get?”

“I got - don’t laugh - I got this book on witchcraft. Because I think he’s a witch. Remember how I think he’s a witch?”

There was a strong, solid silence.

“You got a book about witchcraft,” said Jehan slowly. “Because you think he’s a witch. To - what? Impress him?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of making fun of him,” said Grantaire sheepishly. “Or just, like, testing the waters.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” said Jehan. “How did he react?”

“I think it might have scared him,” said Grantaire. “It was sort of funny - he fumbled with the book for a little while before he could get himself back to normal.”

“Please invite him over,” said Jehan. “Show him your grimoire. Your enchanted herbs. I bet he thinks ancient runes are fascinating.”

“I’m not inviting him over,” said Grantaire. “Don’t make me throw things at you.”

“You throw things of your own free will,” said Jehan. “I don’t _make_ you do anything.”

A throw pillow hit Jehan in the face with a soft _puff_.

“That was uncalled for,” said Jehan. Grantaire threw another.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter two??? will be up as soon as possible. its mostly written, its just incoherent. i'll also be updating my space au shortly. if you wanna get in touch w/ me when im not on ao3, hang out with me on tumblr @putoriius! we have fun. and please leave a comment!!  
> also fun fact: im technically a hereditary witch. i drew on almost none of the stuff i grew up w/ to write this, though. if i had, there'd be more tarot and less herbs. i had a weird childhood.


End file.
